Adon’s phone buzzed a third time and he answered the unknown comms ID. Noise erupted in his ear as he pulled the speaker away with a frown, “what?”

“Hey, Gideon’s fuck-mallow fledglings are jumping in with D’Arjon on a warehouse hit in Chroma, if you want in. You said you had beef and, to be honest, I could use the back up, my guys are still at the bridge.” Y hissed in half a whisper over the metal grinding through security barriers in the background, clearly already at the hit site. She hummed to herself for a second, debating the next piece of information and spitting it out anyway, “some of them are just mercs, but they brought a squad. Their guns and gear look like someone paid for a hit and they’re hoping to do both at once.”

Adon shrugged, already heading toward the nearest elevator, “so.”

“So… I only know of three people in Chroma that anyone would bother putting a hit on, and two of them are currently bunkered down and surrounded by extra security. Which leaves only your little bird.”

“Lu’s fine, I left him at a hotel, no one will find him there.”

“Pretty sure I’m looking at him, you dumb shit, he can leave a hotel. You have to tie them up.”

“I’m not fucking tying him up, what’s wrong with you?” He nodded an apology to a glaring mother and lowered his voice, “where are you?”

“That glass restaurant, the pretty one in the middle of the Chroma plaza? There’s a warehouse underneath, above the transit, but below the hubbub shopping shit and Asylum buildings. I pinged it to you. Word is that lots of fancy people pay Chrome Family lots of fancy credits to keep their shit safe there.” She bounced with excitement, “I don’t know how Mustard man found out, but he’s happily breaking in without a worry, so he’s obviously got insiders and sec-off control. I’m going in—”

“Wait, who’s the mustard?” Adon jogged to the nearest grav-tunnel, snatching a public helmet and climbing into a rental suit, jumping the line and sprinting through before the guards could stop him, certain there would be another push to solve the public fare jumper crisis when really they meant keep the Grounders below the Mid-Gate. He winced an apology and waved at the whining crowd, then prepared to jump out at the other end where they’d be waiting for him. His comms crackled through the speed as he raced around slower runners. He could feel his boots sliding, old enough to adhere to the tunnels, new enough that they were melting. 

He reached the other end, his gear off in practiced seconds and dunked into the used bin as he passed. He kept his momentum, jumped a gate, slid through a startled crowd, and hooked a passing rail up to central Chroma just in time. 

“Who… is the mustard?” he heaved sideways on a seat, catching his breath.

“Ugh, I said it five times. D’Arjon, obviously.”

Adon snorted, “dijon is the mustard.”

“Whatever.” Her voice dropped even lower, “you’re little birdy is upstairs from the warehouse they were already targeting. That’s too much coincidence, Doni. X pulled out of the plan to catch D’Arjon here, his goal is to stop the war, not start one.”

“Then why are you still there?” Adon was already running, leaping out of the crowded station and dashing down the platform to another elevator, ignoring the annoyed glares because he didn’t have his coat to speak for him, bouncing impatiently behind the doors as the announcer called Layer C: Chroma Central, Level 5. 

“Well,” Y snapped sarcastically, “because if you found out I let Gideon’s pigs kill his baby boy, I think you’d actually find a way to choke me with my own chain, Adon.”

“Sorry for doubting your loyalty breadstick,” Adon chuckled, stifling his rising anxiety as more metal grinding cut through their comms. They both knew she could take him with her eyes closed. “You can just say you love me,” he huffed off the elevator and sprinted through the empty plaza, darting around the security checkpoints that were suspiciously inactive until he was on the right layer, following her crappy directions around the glass building that stood like a church or a temple or a massive birdcage, but was just another club. He glanced around the windows twice for Lu, but didn’t see him. “Almost there,” he folded through a narrow closing door, rounding stairs until he found an open breezeway and climbed the ancient fire escape down toward Y, jealous for the first time of the nav-system positioning of newer glasses, bio-contacts, and helmets others followed as he waited for his phone to recalibrate, reorienting his own directions from Y’s running commentary of bad landmarks. 

When he finally got down to the warehouse, he paused, but didn’t see Lu or Y, and wondered for a sparking second if she’d tricked him, freezing in an icy fear that Lu’s brother had paid D’Arjon enough to get them so close. He stormed into the maze of shelves and crates until Y jumped up from her crouch, pulling him down beside her. She lifted her single-lens sunglasses, an old trick she’d taught Adon to keep one eye adjusted to light and dark at all times, unbothered by sudden darkness or illumination as D’Arjon’s crew connected a handheld generator and flooded the climate-controlled warehouse. Y tossed the glasses and stood, stretching. She riffled through her pockets with a yawn, pulling out a few unimpressive knives.

“What happened to your Pen-Ten?” Adon hissed. 

She scowled, offended, “I would never use such a beautiful knife to cut meat scraps, Adon that’s rude.”

He laughed and peeked in a few boxes, surprised to find a whole crate of sparkling pink bats trailing rainbow streamers. He offered Y one and she nearly squealed. 

“They’re so cute!” Y  beat it against her hand, testing the durability, delighted at the solid metal, smiling bright at Adon. She exchanged the purple one he’d handed her for the pink one in his, testing the pull of the ribbons and swinging it like a mace before nodding her approval. 

Adon smirked, “a cute bat is still a bat.” This time if they leaked footage of him killing someone, it really would be self defense. Besides, no one would believe it was him, not in Chroma, not without the coat. He checked a few other crates but found nothing helpful, so he moved toward the noise, pausing at a set of saw blades one of D’Arjon’s crew had forgotten on top of a shelf. 

Y strode beside him, nudging him toward the circle of clamp lights the thieves had set up. She pointed to the burliest man, loading a crate into a converted rail bike, “the pig,” then scanned the others, “Mykos, the slum-king, don’t kill him, his parents think he’s important. Troy, as you know, annoying as ever and won’t pick a side.” She shrugged at Adon, “child’s play.”

Adon held up his purple bat with a smile, “play time.”

Y snorted, walking into the light of the busy crew, her voice echoing as she called their attention with a hearty clap, “listen up fuckers, I wore my lucky socks today so you’ll have an excuse. You’re welcome. Now who wants to die first?”

Adon rolled his eyes. He’d wanted to say something about safety in numbers… of teeth and throw the saw blades, but the stack of blade disks stuck together and didn’t frisbee like he thought they would, so he simply dodged out from behind Y to tackle the first guy lunging at her. He fell and rolled, lashing a boot and catching the man’s head enough to send him sprawling. Adon creaked up, still bruised from his fight in Lu’s workshop, then remembered Troy and Mykos would be hurting too and went to kick Mykos in the chin for the mark he’d left on Lu’s forehead. 

They didn’t recognize Adon without his coat, and so he got to test his skills in a real fight for the first time in years. He made sure to protect his reputation, thinking of glaring eyes watching Mess, and Euri, from Nyx’s, and what they might try the second they thought they could get away with it. He slid across the cement on one of the discarded sawblades, slammed his frilly bat forward like a lance, then pulled it back in hand with the ribbons. He kicked in shelves and dove out of the collapse while his opponents were pulling up guards, and leapt atop crates to jump down and roll out of their attacks again, sending D’Arjon’s crew and Orestes’ kids on ridiculous chases while he let the most unhinged sides of himself loose. There were parts of himself he’d only gotten to know in the Pits, parts of himself he never wanted anyone to witness, that he hated but felt empowered by. He thought of Lu’s horror if he ever saw and pulled a killing blow. Then he thought of Lu’s thanks for killing Sias and launched a debilitating attack on a backpedalling man twice his size who was already screaming. 

He felt like a monster, uncageable. 

Adon laughed in Y’s wake as she tore through opponents, leaving his own trail of destruction rippling around him. Within minutes, they were back to their old competition, Y tossing her bat and taunting Adon to abandon his weapons for blunt fists. They moved through the warehouse cackling like it was a game, a warm-up for the Pit Champions they never had to participate in again. Y whipped a man’s shoe at retreating backs, delighted and yelling for Adon to catch up as the scattered crew ducked into warehouse aisles, struggling to surround them.

Adon was distracted by repeating Y’s exact combinations, mirroring her, and hitting the same order of broken ribs and bruised thighs on Mykos and Troy until they both stumbled and fell away. Adon stood, breathless, and from behind a shadow of discarded crates, a hand reached and a knife slid into his side with a piercing flash. Adon twisted away, but the tip of the weapon was stained red and moving toward him again, too slowly. 

Adon watched the Pig’s sharp hand advance, stuttering away as the world tilted. Adon exhaled, inhaled, winced, and blinked, focusing only on the knife hovering in front of him as if the rest of the world was made of water. He swayed, scoffing at himself as the Pig lunged forward with a growl.

“I told you, Doni,” Y grumbled, tightening an arm around the Pig’s neck. “Go. There are more coming.”

“Trap?” He fell backwards into a sturdy line of metal racks as his brain registered the pain. Y had dragged him to a Med-Pod when they’d first got out of the Pits, both of them got several teeth removed with laser cutters and the precision of Upper doctors who didn’t know they could be stiffed on Midder machines yet. They got their teeth regrown with their own extracted cells by a dentist in the Wells. He was good, used to be an Upper, had too much gambling debt, found out he could charge five times more for his services in the Wells because Grounders didn’t have Asylum credit protections. Adon ran his tongue over the embedded teeth, unable to distinguish them anymore, forcing another shaky breath—this hurt more than the teeth. More than the dull serrations of the Pits, than the bruised bones and inflamed infections, mostly because it was so thoroughly unexpected. Now Y wanted him to ditch as more people were rallying their way? No way. He tried to smile, shaking off the shelf, “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound convincing at all,” She dropped the unconscious Pig, kicking him for good measure and grabbing Adon’s arm, “no, it’s not a trap.” She tried to inspect his wound but he wouldn’t move his hand. “Move,” she slapped it, frowning at his whimper, “I can’t believe you got stabbed.”